Meisla’s first night in Darlocke forest was spent with relatively high spirits. She sat next to her brother and Gaerra. Sylvar sat on the opposite side, completing the circle. In the center of the ring was Bronson, reenacting one of the many adventures he had with Yoviene before the elves had joined them. He stood in front of a small fire they had set earlier when Yoviene had left the group alone. The forest was unusually lukewarm during the night, but the flame provided a familiar comfort of normalcy in the strange forest. Meisla’s watched and listened, completely mesmerized by his tale.

“So there I was, deep inside the cave, surrounded by five of Jazqual’s goons with nothing but my fists. I had already taken out twenty of the bastards at that point. I tried to use my blessing, but they kept rushing at me. The first one, I knocked out with one good punch to the head. Then I grabbed and tossed them right into the two trying to jam their spears in me. While my back was turned, another tried to swing their ax down on my head. They were no match against my reflexes thought! I spun around and caught the blade with my bare hands. It took all my strength to snap it off and sliced the guy's throat.” The large man moved about with the energy of an entire theatre troupe. He quickly switched between the role of himself and faceless bandits with a rehearsed poise and theatrics.

“I looked over at the last guy and gave him my prettiest smile as I walked over to him. He pissed himself as he ran off.” Bronson finished with a smirk.

“What about Yoviene!? Where was she?” Meisla asked excitedly.

“As I was decimating the lackeys, Yovey was taking on Jazqual herself. Now Jazqual was known as a cruel and terrible wind blessed. When Yovey fought her, she sucked all the air out around them. She thought that by depriving Yovey of air, she wouldn’t be able to spark a flame to use her blessing. But that’s the amazing thing about those who mastered the blessing of fire; she used the fire within. Jazqual’s eyes bugged out when she saw Yovey set her sword ablaze. She held her breath the entire time as she ran straight at the bandit and cut her down!” Then we collected our reward and went about our merry way.”

Everyone applauded Bronson as he bowed in a dramatic flourish. “How long ago did that adventure happen?” Meisla asked Bronson as he sat down between Denlo and Sylvar, both of whom shifted awkwardly away to give the bulky man space.

He checked his arms and mumbled to himself, “I got this scar after that happened, so… Aw! It was about three years ago. Yovey and I actually met Sylvar a few months after we took down Jazqual.” Bronson declared.

The group turned expectantly over to Sylvar, waiting for the grand tale of his first encounter with Yoviene and Bronson. The elven man cleared his throat. Everyone waited patiently for him to begin.

“Yoviene had quite the reputation for being good at what she does, so I approached her and asked if I could join them. She said yes, and here we are.” Sylvar shrugged.

“What kind of story was that!?” I could have sworn there was a bar fight or two the night you met us!” Bronson wondered as he reached over behind him to grab the bag of fruits and berries Sylvar had foraged earlier.

“Yes. You were the one starting fights at the bar while I talked to Yoviene.”

“Oh yeah. Well, do you have any other tales to tell you our young and eager audience over there?” Bronson looked over at Meisla, who was recreating Bronson’s story in her sketchbook.

“No. My life’s been pretty boring until now. Just the odd job here and there. I stumbled across Gaerra one day and took her along with us.” Sylvar said calmly.

“Boring!? You and Gaerra are like one of the few elves I’ve seen outside the continent of Allanar! That’s pretty interesting!”

Both Sylvar and Gaerra twitched when they heard the name of their home continent. Gaerra had a grim look on her face.

“Y-Yes. Sylvar’s right. There’s really not much to say about leaving Allanar. I wanted to travel, and Sylvar was quite the rogue. He probably had a bounty or two on his head over there.” Gaerra gave a forceful laugh as she spoke. Sylvar shot her a look but didn’t say anything.

“What’s Allanar like? Meisla asked innocently.

“It’s a pretty quiet place. Nothing really happens there. Not much to talk about, really.” Gaerra said quickly.

“Hey, Meisla, why don’t you show us some of your drawings?” Sylvar said, changing the subject.

The girl had a look of disappointment on her face at not hearing more about Allanor, but she obliged. Meisla stood and flipped the black book and showed it to the group. She started by showing them a picture of the bear that hunted her and Denlo earlier. It took up most of the space on the page. She captured the moment it stared at her with its jaw open and a little drool dripping down from it. Having only charcoal with her, Meisla gave the bear deep black eyes instead of the glowing yellow giving it a hypnotic stare that the group was captivated by. Along the edges were the faint outlines of the spectral copies of the bear.

Meisla then flipped through to a picture she drew of the forest entrance at night, black streaks lighting flow down the page. In the center, there’s a shadowy figure in the darkness with painted blue eyes. Everyone became quiet as they saw the image. Not wanting to kill the mood completely, Meisla quickly flipped through to some even older sketches. These were simple drawings of some of the village houses, a few animals, the sky.

She even had some portraits of villagers: Lenna, her father and mother together, and the elders. She flipped over near the end of the book to a drawing of Denlo when he was a few years younger. Next to him was an older boy who was a few inches taller than him. Both of them had huge grins on their faces as they had their arms over their shoulders.

“Who’s the other boy next to you, Denlo?” Bronson asked.

Denlo stared at the image and spoke with sadness in his voice, “That’s our brother, Varlo.”

“Oh? I haven’t seen him in the village. Did he leave? Got tired of the simple village life?” Bronson asked again.

“You know, I haven’t set up our own tents yet, Meisla. Excuse me while I go do that.” Denlo said, quickly getting up and leaving the circle.

“Wait, I’ll help you gather some wood,” Sylvar said, following behind.

Bronson looked over at Meisla, furrowing his brow and asking, “Touchy subject, I’m guessing?”

Meisla closed her book and sat back down on the ground, “Varlo and Denlo were conscripted to fight in the army about two years ago.”

“The war against the Taniel empire?”

Meisla nodded and continued as her eyes started welling up, “Varlo…died in battle. Denlo doesn’t like talking about it. In fact, he’s never really talked about what happened to them in the war.”

Bronson glanced over at Denlo, who was making makeshift tents for him and his sister with Sylvar’s help, before looking at the fire. “War does that to people, especially when you’re not used to all that bloodshed. I heard before the Kamoran army was pretty strict, particularly for the conscripted.”

“It’s annoying how he doesn’t talk to me about it. Varlo was my brother too. Denlo avoids talking about him like he does with everything else.” Meisla said bitterly.

Bronson chuckled at this, but Gaerra gave Meisla a sympathetic look, “Give him time to heal. You and Yoviene are too much alike. Sometimes you need to wait for things to heal on their own. People go through grief and their own way.” Gaerra said.

“Have you seen into Denlo’s mind?” Meisla asked.

“…Occasionally. I’m not nosy like Sylvar is, though!” Gaerra added quickly.

“He’s still in pain. I can see his mind. He has a memory he hides from himself. Even though it's been two years, he can’t let Varlo’s death go. Just like you can’t.”

While Meisla mulled over what had Gaerra had said, Bronson looked over again at Denlo and saw he had finished setting up tents for himself and his sister. Like the other adventurers' tents, these were simple, functional, and gave some semblance of privacy. Sylvar was walking over to his tent to sleep for the night.

“Looks like they’re turning in for the night. I should head to bed as well.” Bronson said as he got up and stretched. “I’m not really tired, though. Ever since we fought the Mage, I felt like I could run all over the countryside without breaking a sweat!” He laughed to himself as he waved goodbye and went into his tent.

Now sitting in front of the fire were Gaerra and Meisla. The two didn’t say anything. They just enjoyed the calm and dangerless night. Meisla stared at the night sky, counting the stars like she used to on the hill outside the village when she was a child. Denlo and Varlo would watch with her, and they would try to find as many constellations as they could. She was able to see one that resembled a bird in flight. Minthea’s bird. Her heavenly familiar would watch over the land while she was attending to her duties in the heavens. Darlocke, whom she named this forest after. They always had trouble finding it when they were children, but when one of them did, the winner got to lounge about while the losers had to do their chores for the rest of the week.

“Meisla?” Gaerra spoke in a whisper.

“Yes?”

“In the story, your Elder Canno told us about Darlocke forest; he said the goddess Minthea never returned to this place, right?” Gaerra asked.

“Yes,” Meisla said with a perfect memory of the story she heard many times. “Minthea hasn’t been to the forest since the Mage took it over. Canno would often rant to us that the Mage cursed the forest in a way that prevented the Gods from stepping inside. Why do you ask?”

Meisla said as she looked at the worried Gaerra.

The elven woman had a guilty look on her face as if she caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Yoviene was right when she said that the entire story of this place just doesn’t make sense. Ever since we fought the Mage, nothing has made sense!” Gaerra forced the words out as if it burned her throat in doing so.

“What do you mean, Gaerra? Are you alright? The girl asked with concern and placing a hand on Gaerra shoulder.

The woman took a deep breathed and rubbed her eyes before speaking, “There’s something strange going on here, but I think Minthea is in on it.”

Gaerra said as she pulled down the collar of her dress that covered her neckline, revealing a small intricate rune, “In fact, I don’t she ever left.